


Sure Luck-y

by Tashilover



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Afghanistan, alternative universe, cat!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:30:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His commanding officer told him to kill it. A cat!Sherlock fic.</p><p>(On permanent hiatus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were too many warnings. They warned him not to take off his helmet; he could get hit by a stray bullet. They warned him not to take off his boots, a scorpion could climb inside. They warned him to never let his gun stray any further than a foot away from him, he could need it at any moment.

 

At that moment, John considered doing all three things. His helmet was making his neck cramp, his boots were overheating his feet and the mere sight of his gun made his gut clench.

 

John and the unit he was assigned to had been squatting in this part of the desert for five days now. They had no orders to move forward nor did they have orders to leave. It made all the men restless and bored, John included. He tried to keep himself busy by reading his little medical book, but by the second day, John had practically memorized the entire thing, copyright included.

 

John leaned his back against the jeep tire, ducking his head to keep his whole body in the shadow. He only took off his helmet once to wipe sweat from his eyes. His gun sat smugly in his lap while his boots stayed on his feet, numbly tightly so.

 

John sighed, thinking seriously of taking a nap right then and there. He could see his friend Charlie sleeping not so far away. John would have to move him soon or else he would be seriously sunburned.

 

Then John heard it. A low growling noise.

 

He stared at Charlie for a few seconds, thinking it was him snoring. But when he heard the noise again, this time in the opposite direction, he did not resist the pull of curiosity and went towards it.

 

Over a small dune, John saw it. There were at least seven camel spiders clamoring over something black, viciously eating it. John hated those creepy motherfuckers; his teammates loved to throw their corpses on unsuspecting cadets just to watch them scream.

 

Still, boredom gnawed at the back of John’s mind and he made himself get closer, to see exactly what the damn insects were eating.

 

Holy crap. It was a kitten.

 

Holy _crap._ The poor thing was still alive.

 

 John took out his knife, and flung each spider a great deal of distance away. When he looked down at the kitten, he could see the animal was starving, dehydrated, and bleeding from the several bite wounds the spiders inflicted.

 

Despite all that, the kitten was _beautiful._ It was a shorthaired, sleek black feline. John knew few locals enjoyed cats as pets, but most of the cats he’d seen around these parts were either white or peach colored.

 

He thought about mercy-killing the poor thing.

 

Instead, he sheathed his knife and as gently as he could, lifted the kitten into his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

His commanding officer told him to kill it.

“I like cats too, John,” William told him. “But we could move out at any moment and we can’t afford having an animal among us. All you would be doing is prolonging its suffering.”

That was the unfortunate truth. It would take days for the kitten to recover and if they decided to move out tomorrow, or even three days from now, John would be forced to leave the animal behind, leave it to dehydrate again. Killing it would be humane.

John doesn’t know what compelled him to convince William to let him keep the cat. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was his doctoral instinct. Either way, William had breathed a tired, “Alright. But the cat only eats from you, understand?”

What John does first is dress the little bite wounds the camel spiders left behind. He wasn’t a vet so he wasn’t sure if what he was doing was right. He rubbed a little alcohol on each bite and wrapped medical tape around it to keep the sand out.

He then took an eyedropper, filled it with water and gently dribbled water into the kitten’s mouth. He did this about a dozen times before refilling the dropper with vitamin powdered water and repeating the process.

Quite a number of his fellow mates agreed with the commander, but that didn’t stop them from voluntarily giving up their own vitamin water for the kitten. That didn’t stop them from voluntarily watch the kitten as John did his rounds. That didn’t stop them from voluntarily using their own free time on the internet to look up animal physiology.

“Have you named it yet?” One of the officers asked as John gave the kitten another dose of water. The kitten had yet to waken, but its breathing was better and its wounds were healing.

John shrugged. “Haven’t thought of one. Maybe… Blacky? Darth Vader?”

“How ‘bout Sherlock?”

John’s face scrunched at the odd choice of name. “Why?”

“Because it was sure luck-y you found that cat when you did.”

John groaned.


	3. Chapter 3

Nevertheless, the stupid name stuck. “Hello Sherlock,” John would say gently to the still unconscious kitten, resting on his sleeping bag. At this point Sherlock had been unconscious for nearly a week.

John worried maybe the kitten suffered heat stroke. Maybe it would never wake up.

Until one day, it did.

Despite all the vast resources of the British Army, getting a decent meal in the middle of the desert was next to impossible. For the past couple of months John had lived on crackers, bowls of instant soup and dehydrated ice cream. Today was a special day (one of the commanders’ wife had a baby) and they handed out small bowls of beef stew. Actual beef stew, not the stuff that came in the bag.

When John entered the tent, Sherlock was staring straight at him.

“Oh, hello,” John said a little surprised.

Sherlock narrowed his green eyes at him. His tail swished in suspicion.

“Glad to see you’re awake. Would like you like something to eat?”

John sat down heavily on his sleeping bag, making Sherlock jerk his legs slightly. John took a small piece of beef, blew on it and held it out for Sherlock to take.

The kitten stared at John unimpressed.

“Okay…” John placed the beef in front of Sherlock, pulled back his hand. Sherlock shifted as if he won some unspoken battle, bent down and ate the piece of beef.

John repeated the process, taking little bits of beef and potatoes and placing them in front of the kitten. Sherlock ate every piece, still staring at the man with his unnatural intelligent eyes.

If Sherlock was bigger, was an actual cat, John may have found his staring to be unnerving. But the large eyes and poofy black fur made Sherlock so damn cute, that John couldn’t resist and reached out to stroke his head.

Sherlock’s ears immediately folded and he gave a short menacing growl.

Intimidating it should have been, but in John’s eyes it made Sherlock even cuter. The message came across loud and clear though and John pulled his hand back. “Oh,” John smirked. “So you don’t mind sleeping on my bag or eating my food, but it’s not okay for me to pet you?”

Sherlock tilted his head as if to say, ‘Of course’. He stretched and yawned, made a show of adjusting himself, turned his back on John and fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Now that news of the little black kitten was awake, John’s tent had constant visitors. Some just wanted to check on the little guy, while some wanted to actually play. Those who dared to pet Sherlock, always walked away with scratches or bite marks.

And it wasn’t just the stranger Sherlock maimed. It was John too. The kitten would gladly accept any food or water from the doctor, but as soon as John looked as if he wanted to be affectionate, Sherlock attacked.

He was damn lucky he was so cute.

Despite his injuries, despite John’s effort to keep him inside the tent, Sherlock always found his way outside, strolling the camp. The soldiers found this insanely hilarious, and they would stop what they were doing just to watch this little cat walk by. They all learned their lesson and never tried to pet Sherlock again.

John supposed it would only be a matter of time before Sherlock wondered off, never to be seen again.

Despite his disappearing acts, Sherlock was always found somewhere in the camp. Soldiers have found him mewing on top of the tanks, sniffing and licking discarded rifle shells; more than once John had found the kitten in the medical area. John always threw him out, grabbing him by the ruff while Sherlock hissed and spat loudly in protest.

The kitten was always watching, always.

“Your cat is freaking me out, Watson,” Anderson sneered at Sherlock. The little black cat kept his giant green eyes trained on him as he cleaned his gun.

John didn’t even look up from his medical book. “Yeah, well, you know what they say about cats and curiosity.”

“That annoyed men tend to shoot them?” Anderson pointed his gun at Sherlock who didn’t even flinch.

John studied Sherlock’s calm demeanor. “I think he knows you won’t shoot him.”

“Or maybe he’s too damn stupid to react.”

“I think he’s smarter than we think he is.”

Sherlock tossed a look over his shoulder. Of course I am, the look said.

“He wasn’t smart enough to keep the camel spiders off him,” Anderson continued, snapping his gun into place. This earned him a glare from the little kitty. “Did you hear, though? We’re moving out tomorrow.”

Both Sherlock and John perked up at this. “Really?”

“Yeah, we got orders only an hour ago. So you have until tonight to find local to take in that damn cat.”


End file.
